The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (110 page)

Embrac’d his person, though a number more

My hospitable roofs receiv’d before.

His men I likewise call’d, and from the store

Allow’d them meal and heat-exciting wine,

And oxen for their slaughter, to confine

In my free hand the utmost of their need.

Twelve days the Greeks stay’d, ere they got them freed,

A gale so bitter blew out of the north,

That none could stand on earth, being tumbled forth

By some stern god. But on the thirteenth day

The tempest ceas’d, and then went Greeks their way.’

Thus many tales Ulysses told his wife,

At most but painting, yet most like the life;

Of which her heart such sense took through her ears,

It made her weep as she would turn to tears.

And as from off the mountains melts the snow,

Which Zephyr’s breath conceal’d, but was made flow

By hollow Eurus, which so fast pours down,

That with their torrent floods have overflown:

So down her fair cheeks her kind tears did glide,

Her miss’d lord mourning, set so near her side.

Ulysses much was mov’d to see her mourn;

Whose eyes yet stood as dry as iron or horn

In his untroubled lids, which in his craft

Of bridling passion he from issue sav’d.

When she had given her moan so many tears,

That now ’twas satiate, her yet loving fears

Ask’d thus much further: ‘You have thus far tried

My love’s credulity, but if gratified

With so long stay he was with you, you can

Describe what weed he wore, what kind of man

Both he himself was, and what followers

Observ’d him there.’ ‘Alas,’ said he, ‘the years

Have grown so many since – this making now

Their twentieth revolution – that my show

Of these slight notes will set my memory sore;

But, to my now remembrance, this he wore:

A double purple robe, drawn close before

With golden buttons, plaited thick, and bore

A facing where a hundred colours shin’d.

About the skirts a hound a freckled hind

In full course hunted; on the foreskirts, yet,

He pinch’d and pull’d her down, when with her feet,

And all her force, she struggled hard for flight.

Which had such life in gold, that to the sight

It seem’d the hind itself for every hue,

The hound and all so answering the view,

That all admir’d all. I observ’d beside

His inner weed, so rarely beautified

That dumb amaze it bred, and was as thin

As any dry and tender onion skin;

As soft ’twas, too, and glister’d like the sun.

The women were to loving wonder won

By him and by his weeds. But, by the way,

You must excuse me, that I cannot say

He brought this suit from home, or had it there

Sent for some present, or, perhaps, elsewhere

Receiv’d it for his guest-gift; for your lord

Had friends not few, the fleet did not afford

Many that had not fewer. I bestow’d

A well-edg’d sword on him, a robe that flow’d

In folds and fulness, and did reach his feet,

Of richest purple; brought him to his fleet

With all my honour; and besides, to add

To all this sifted circumstance, he had

A herald there, in height a little more

Put from the earth, that thicker shoulders wore,

A swarth complexion and a curled head,

His name Eurybates; and much in stead

He stood your king, employ’d in most command,

Since most of all his mind could understand.’

When all these signs she knew for chiefly true,

Desire of moan upon her beauties grew,

And yet, ev’n that desire suffic’d, she said:

‘Till this, my guest, a wretched state array’d

Your ill-us’d person, but from this hour forth

You shall be honour’d, and find all the worth

That fits a friend. Those weeds these hands bestow’d

From my wardrobe, those gold buttons sew’d

Before for closure and for ornament.

But never more must his return present

The person that gave those adornments state;

And therefore, under an abhorred fate,

Was he induc’d to feed the common fame,

To visit vile Troy, ay too vile to name.’

‘No more yet mourn,’ said he, ‘nor thus see pin’d

Your lovely person. Weeping wastes the mind.

And yet I blame you not; for any dame

That weds one young, and brings to him his name,

Whatever man he is, will mourn his loss.

Much more respectful then must show your woes

That weep thus for Ulysses, who, fame says,

Was equal with the gods in all his ways.

But where no cause is there must be no moan;

And therefore hear me, my relation

Shall lay the clear truth naked to your view:

I heard amongst the Thesprots for most true,

That lord Ulysses liv’d, and stood just now

On his return for home; that wealth did flow

In his possession, which he made not known,

But begg’d amongst the people, since alone

He quite was left, for all his men were lost

In getting off from the Trinacrian coast;

Jove and the Sun was wroth with them for rape

Made of his oxen, and no man let ’scape

The rugged deeps of Neptune; only he,

The ship’s keel only keeping, was by sea

Cast on the fair Phaeacian continent,

Where men survive that are the gods’ descent,

And like a god receiv’d him, gave him heaps

Of wealthy gifts, and would conduct his steps

Themselves safe home; which he might long ago

His pleasure make, but profit would not so.

He gather’d going, and had mighty store

Of gold in safeguard; so beyond the shore

That common sails kept, his high food of wit

Bore glorious top, and all the world for it

Hath far exceeded. All this Phaedon told,

That doth the sceptre of Thesprotia hold,

Who swore to me, in household sacrifice,

The ship was launch’d, and men to man the prise,

That soon should set him on his country earth;

Show’d me the goods, enough to serve the birth

That in the tenth age of his seed should spring,

Yet in his court contain’d. But then the king,

Your husband, for Dodona was in way,

That from th’ oraculous oak he might display

Jove’s will what course for home would best prevail,

To come in pomp, or bear a secret sail.

But me the king dispatch’d in course before,

A ship then bound for the Dulichian shore.

So thus you see his safety whom you mourn;

Who now is passing near, and his return

No more will punish with delays, but see

His friends and country. All which truth to thee

I’ll seal with sacred oath. Be witness, Jove,

Thou first and best of all the thron’d above!

And thou house of the great Laertes’ heir,

To whose high roofs I tender my repair,

That what I tell the queen event shall crown!

This year Ulysses shall possess his own,

Nay ere the next month ends shall here arrive,

Nay, ere it enters, here abide alive!’

‘O may this prove,’ said she, ‘gifts, friendship then

Should make your name the most renown’d of men.

But ’tis of me receiv’d, and must so sort,

That nor my lord shall ever see his court,

Nor you gain your deduction thence, for now

The alter’d house doth no such man allow

As was Ulysses, if he ever were,

To entertain a reverend passenger,

And give him fair dismission. But, maids, see

Ye bathe his feet, and then with tapestry,

Best sheets and blankets, make his bed, and lay

Soft waistcoats by him, that, lodg’d warm, he may

Ev’n till the golden-seated morning’s ray

Enjoy good rest; and then, with her first light,

Bathe, and give alms, that cherish’d appetite

He may apply within our hall, and sit

Safe by Telemachus. Or, if th’ unfit

And harmful mind of any be so base

To grieve his age again, let none give grace

Of doing any deed he shall command,

How wroth soever, to his barbarous hand.

For how shall you, guest, know me for a dame

That pass so far, nay, turn and wind the fame

Of other dames for wisdom, and the frame

Of household usage, if your poor thin weeds

I let draw on you want, and worser deeds,

That may, perhaps, cause here your latest day?

The life of man is short and flies away.

And if the ruler’s self of households be

Ungentle, studying inhumanity,

The rest prove worse, but he bears all the blame;

All men will, living, vow against his name

Mischiefs and miseries, and, dead, supply

With bitter epitaphs his memory.

But if himself be noble, noble things

Doing and knowing, all his underlings

Will imitate his noblesse, and all guests

Give it, in many, many interests.’

‘But, worthiest queen,’ said he, ‘where you command

Baths and rich beds for me, I scorn to stand

On such state now, nor ever thought it yet,

Since first I left the snowy hills of Crete.

When once I fell a-shipboard those thoughts fled;

I love to take now, as long since, my bed.

Though I began the use with sleepless nights,

I many a darkness with right homely rites

Have spent ere this hour, and desir’d the morn

Would come, and make sleep to the world a scorn.

Nor run these dainty baths in my rude head;

Nor any handmaid, to your service bred,

Shall touch my ill-kept feet, unless there live

Some poor old drudge here, that hath learn’d to give

Old men good usage, and no work will fly,

As having suffer’d ill as much as I.

But if there live one such in your command,

I will not shame to give my foot her hand.’

She gave this answer: ‘O my loved guest,

There never enter’d these kind roofs for rest

Stranger or friend that so much wisdom laid

In gage for guest-rites, as your lips have paid.

There lives an old maid in my charge that knows

The good you speak of by her many woes;

That nourish’d and brought up, with curious care,

Th’ unhappy man, your old familiar,

Ev’n since his mother let him view the light,

And oft hath felt in her weak arms his weight;

And she, though now much weaker, shall apply

Her maiden service to your modesty.

Euryclea, rise, and wash the feet of one

That is of one age with your sovereign gone,

Such hands, such feet hath, though of alter’d grace.

Much grief in men will bring on change apace.’

She, from her aged slumber wak’d, did clear

Her heavy eyes, and instantly, to hear

Her sovereign’s name, had work enough to dry

Her cheeks from tears, and to his memory

These moans did offer: ‘O my son,’ said she,

‘I never can take grief enough for thee,

Whom goodness hurts, and whom even Jove’s high spleen,

Since thou art Jove-like, hates the most of men.

For none hath offer’d him so many thighs,

Nor such whole hecatombs of sacrifice,

Fat and selected, as thy zeal hath done;

For all, but praying that thy noble son

Thy happy age might see at state of man.

And yet hath Jove with mists Cimmerian

Put out the light of his returning day.

And as yourself, O father, in your way

Took these fair roofs for hospitable rites,

Yet find, for them, our dogged women’s spites:

So he, in like course, being driv’n to proof,

Long time ere this, what such a royal roof

Would yield his miseries, found such usage there.

And you, now flying the foul language here,

And many a filthy fact of our fair dames,

Fly me like them, and put on causeless shames

To let me cleanse your feet. For not the cause

The queen’s command yields is the pow’r that draws

My will to wash your feet, but what I do

Proceeds from her charge and your reverence too,

Since I in soul am stricken with a ruth

Of your distresses, and past show of truth,

Your strangeness claiming little interest

In my affections. And yet many a guest

Of poor condition hath been harbour’d here,

But never any did so right appear

Like king Ulysses as yourself, for state

Both of your stature, voice, and very gait.’

‘So all have said,’ said he, ‘that ever yet

Had the proportions of our figures met

In their observances; so right your eye

Proves in your soul your judging faculty.’

Thus took she up a cauldron brightly scour’d,

To cleanse his feet in; and into it pour’d

Store of cold wave, which on the fire she set

And therein bath’d, being temperately heat,

Her sovereign’s feet. Who turn’d him from the light,

Since suddenly he doubted her conceit,

So rightly touching at his state before,

A scar now seeing on his foot, that bore

An old note, to discern him, might descry

The absolute truth; which, witness’d by her eye,

Was straight approv’d. He first receiv’d this sore

As in Parnassus’ tops a white-tooth’d boar

He stood in chase withal, who struck him there,

At such time as he lived a sojourner

With his grandsire, Autolycus; who th’ art

Of theft and swearing (not out of the heart,

But by equivocation) first adorn’d

Your witty man withal, and was suborn’d

By Jove’s descent, ingenious Mercury,

Who did bestow it, since so many a thigh